Merc for hire
by Whil-o-whisp
Summary: Gradually these meetings had grown more and more frequent as Christophe's jobs did. Ze Mole was growing more and more popular and Gregory was always there to give him the job and give him his pay. Gregory was always there… series of one shots. South park
1. introduction

_**Merc for hire**_

_**Whil-o-whisp**_

_**Duration- 1-?**_

Yeah, I'm writing another one shot series. Kinda put on complete merely because I might stop at any time. I suck at continuing things. Like the title? It sucks, I know but hey, better than my hitsugaya Karin title. BTW! This is south park, christope / ze mole x Gregory. Both are from South Park: bigger longer and Uncut. Wow, I can't say that without giggling. Lulz. Christophe is the smexy smoking (double entendre meant) french beetch of a boy who gets eaten by guard dogs, and gregory's the weirdo boy who somehow knows Ze Mole and sings retarded songs. Enjoy.


	2. Massage

Massage

Whil-o-whisp

Starting time: who knows

Ending time: who knows

Fandom: South park, GregoryxZemole (christophe)

Word Count: 268

A/N: Truthfully I wouldn't ask. Christophe has a potty mouth, but it's a badly accented potty mouth. Gregory's seductive. Warning enough? No? How about this: malexmale kissing, innuendos, Also, I do not speak French, and thus, any French words are babelfish 'd and thus are more than likely incorrect yadda yadda blah blah blah. Nobody's reading this anyway.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I barely own a cat.

Translation notes: Pos Trop Dur – Not too hard.

Mon ami – my friend

* * *

"Was it difficult?" Christophe nearly purred as Gregory massaged his shoulder languidly. "Pos trop dur…" he murmured resting more fully against his, loosely termed, best friend. Being a paranoid mercenary didn't leave much open for friendship. Gregory smiled softly as he traced the tan lines of Christophe's rather out of place farm boy tan. Nobody in South Park was Tan. The smile however disappeared as he ran his soft fingers over a bruise across Christophe's bare shoulder. "Where'd you get this?" Gregory asked. Christophe growled.

"Zhe fucking fat ass was zhere…" Gregory's frown deepened as Christophe continued, persistent French accent clinging to his voice despite the many years within the U.S.. "Called secureety on me. Caught me outside. Zhat fucking Beetch" Gregory was only half listening, but Christophe was alright with this, he was only half paying attention as well. Gregory had magic fingers. "What was Eric doing there…?" Christophe growled again, catching hold of Gregory's fingers. "Do not ever call him zhat." He hissed. And Gregory sneered, bringing his lips close to the mercenary's ear. "My, is that jealousy I hear, mon ami?"

Heat rushed to Ze Mole's face as his grip went slack. Gregory let his fingers rework at the tightened muscles, pressing his lips to the soft spot below the French man's ear, then more down the length of skin. He carefully tilted Christophe's head back and pressed his lips to his, a soft, subtle kiss. Christophe moaned slightly as Gregory's nimble fingers massaged at his chest. Gregory had magic fingers, and it was only later that he realized just how true that statement was.


	3. Love

Love

Whil-o-whisp

Starting time: unknown

Ending time: Unknown. (probably a little before I started 'I'm sorry')

Fandom: South park, gregoryxZemole (christophe

Word Count: 161

A/N: don't ask. Felt like writing a fluffy Gregory christophe story so here it is. Its really really short. Hm. Warning: fluffy boys being fluffy and gay. Kissing, smoking, yadda yadda yadda, ya get the picture?

Disclaimer: Ooh, what witty disclaimer will I insert here? How about "I DON'T OWN SOUTH PARK"?

* * *

_SLAM!_ Gregory nearly chuckled as his companion muttered French and American curses beneath his breath. They could both hear Christophe's frantic mother's sobbing about how she had gone wrong, but neither could damn well care. Especially when the slightly older teenager pressed close to Gregory and kissed him like that. "Where are we going today?" Christophe thought about this for a moment pulling a half smoked cigarette from his pocket and relighting the tip.

Gregory had long since gotten over the young man's oral fixation. From the time he could, Christophe sucked on his thumb, and from seven on, it was a cigarette. Now at seventeen, a ten year habit was hard to beat, but a seventeen year fixation near impossible. Gregory more often than not ignored the lingering smoky smell of Christophe's clothes and hair. More often than not he realized that he loved the French man too much to make him stop. Love could be a bitch like that.


	4. I'm sorry

I'm sorry

Whil-o-whisp

Starting time:3:42

Ending time: 4:28

Fandom: South Park, GregoryxZemole (christophe)

Word count:452

A/N: Dunno. Just Dunno. Its like four thirty a.m and I can't sleep so why not write a gory christophe x Gregory fic, eh? Got the idea from Cherry Champagne's Whores, so, read hers, its much much better. Its Kenny x Ze Mole. Hm. My guess on this one is that somebody wants Gregory dead bad and decides to pay Christophe to do it, but Christophe doesn't want to but feels he has to because he's a mercenary or something. Idk. Just read I guess. Warning: gore, shounen ai, mentions of butt-secks, and other such silliness. Really not a story for kiddies.

Discalimer: I do not own south park. If I owned south park, would I really be wasting my time on Fanfiction dot net writing stories that I could make canon. Think about that one.

* * *

The room was smoky and smelled of sex and dirt. Christophe sat on the bed's edge, fingers wrapped gingerly around the thick metal handle of his shovel. Gregory watched in mild Interest, dressed in a pair of Christophe's drawstring pants and a white t-shirt. He'd said he felt indecent laying naked in Christophe's bed, especially with the boy's mother down the hall. Christophe merely shrugged him off; much less modest dressed in only a pair of silk black boxers.

"Where'd you get this scar Christophe?" Gregory asked, sitting up enough to trace his finger down a scar stretching from the base of the mercenary's neck to the top of his left ribs. "Zhe first mission you ever gave me…" Christophe muttered, touching the top of the scar. Gregory frowned, standing on his knees behind the young man and wrapping his arms around his shoulders, resting his cheek on the silk soft brunette hair. "I don't remember that mission…"

"Why would you? I am a foot soldier, zhe system's beetch. Zhat's all I'm hired to be." Christophe muttered crossly and Gregory moved to stand before him. "How many people have you killed, Christophe?" Gregory had to know, but Christophe didn't seem to want to answer. "I merely do what zhey tell me to do…" his eyes are downcast as he fingers the handle again. "I merely do what I am told. I do what zhe customer can not do for himzelf…"

Gregory nearly laughed. "You sound like a whore." The thought was almost funny. Christophe was the most respectable person Gregory had ever known. No way he would sink to whoring himself, not even for a job. "Maybe I am." All thought stopped as Gregory slipped to the floor, hands on Christophe's scarred knees. Gregory craned to catch the man's eye. "How many people have you killed, Christophe?" Christophe sighed. "I merely do as I am told." It sounded like he was telling himself this, making excuses for himself, so he didn't have to deal.

Gregory felt the sharp blow as Christophe's hands grasped the shovel, one at the handle, the other on the shaft. The world was a mass of grey and red. He saw the splatter on the wall. He tasted the warm viscous liquid that slipped down his forehead and between his lips. Heard a hitched breath as Christophe put the shovel back down, but he couldn't tell if it were his or not. He smelled the smoke and dirt and sex that was Christophe's room.

But the last thing he ever felt were soft sweet lips pressed against his own, smearing the blood, and a warm, drop of salty liquid falling onto his cheek and sliding down.

"I'm sorry…"


	5. Favor

**Favor**

Whil-o-whisp

Starting time: 5:13 a.m.

Ending time: 5:30 a.m.

Fandom: South park, GregoryxZemole (christophe)

Word Count: 338

A/N: Death! WOOT! Killed Gregory in two fics in a row. But hey, I blame Disturbed again. I was listening to Voices and that just screams death for me. So Thus, I wrote it. Lawlawlawl.

Disclaimer: I own………I'll think of something, but it's not this.

Translation notes: Theres a French sentence but Christophe says it in English at the end.

* * *

"What zhe fuck!" Fear coursed its way through Gregory's mind as he was pinned against the lockers by The Mole. Dark eyes bored into his own light blue ones, frightening and cruel and cold. And old, despite the body's minimal years of only sixteen. Those eyes. Fuck those eyes were frightening. And their owner even more so. Gregory scrambled for purchase, fumbling with his words and trying his damnedest to escape his attacker. None of this was his fault, so why was Christophe attacking him? Okay, so he had sent them to him, but-

Thought cut short as the French man's thumbs pressed against the hollow of Gregory's throat, slowly decreasing airflow. A certain sadistic pleasure passed through the angry eyes. This wasn't his fault. He kept telling himself this as Christophe muttered darkly in French. "_**Vous m'avez tu**__**é, Gregory. Je renvoie seulement la faveur."**_ Gregory knew French, he knew he did, but he couldn't for the life of him understand those words. _Vous_. That was you. He was talking about Gregory. Well, no shit. He said Gregory in the very same sentence. Okay, _M'avez._ Killed…

The light around him started to darken around the edges, the tan faced boy in front of him enjoying the tortured desperate look Gregory was sure he possessed. Don't focus on the pain. That was all Gregory thought before thinking again. _Vous m'avez tu__é, Gregory_. You killed me, Gregory. It wasn't his fault. He hadn't meant for any of this to happen. He scratched at Christophe's wrists, damning his obsessive care. He had no nails, he cut them not twelve hours prior. Karma fucking sucks. Christophe now looked detached, his fingers tightening even more around Gregory's trachea. He was going to kill him. He was killing him.

"_**Vous m'avez tu**__**é, Gregory. Je renvoie seulement la faveur."**_

Christophe dropped the rapidly cooling body, flexing his fingers as the body slid down the lockers to slump against the bottom, head lolling and eyes dark. "You killed me, Gregory. I am only returning the favor."

_A/N: REVIEW! LOLZ i kill Gregory...Or... make Christophe kill him._


	6. Your way

**

* * *

**

Your way

Whil-o-whisp

Starting time: 5:33

Ending time: 5:45

Fandom: South park, GregoryxZemole (christophe)

Word Count: 427

A/N: Lulz. Christophe has a dirty mouth again! Seems to be perpetual. Don't you just love it though? I was listening to Down with the Sickness by Disturbed while making this. Well, dirty mouth, Gregory being evil, you know the game. Lets play.

Disclaimer: I don't own South Park. Matt and Trey do!

Translation notes: Non French.

* * *

"Sheet!" Rocks and sticks sliced at him as he tumbled down the steep slope. How the fuck had he gotten into this fucking mess. Guard dogs. That was all he could remember. Fuck he hated guard dogs. He hated dogs in general. Rabid beasts, evil and mean and useless. Gregory would fucking pay for sending him on this suicide mission. It wasn't as bad as some of his other excursions the slightly younger man had given him but damnit he fucking hated guard dogs. Shit. Voices and yelling. He needed to move. As fast and as far away as possible.

He ignored the searing pain in his right side. A cut, no big deal. He'd had worse. That fucking bitch at home did worse. He purposefully kicked a hard rock. He DID NOT need to be thinking about her while he was running for his fucking life from crazy religious nuts who had gotten on the wrong side of somebody rich enough to ask for his and Gregory's help. Religious nuts. He seemed to be surrounded by them in that retarded little town. France was smarter. It'd take less people to take over South Park than it did to occupy Paris damnit!

He kicked another rock. He'd have broken toes by morning but he didn't care as he continued running, stumbling on a slope before emerging into a ditch right next to the road. A black car sat just ahead, a small light flaring and dying in the drivers seat. He scaled the side of the ditch, cursing Gregory, his descendents and ancestors. Fuck, he'd curse Gregory's dog right about now. Wait… He'd curse that stupid animal anyway. He stumbled on the hard asphalt before pulling open the passenger door of the black sedan. He slid into the seat, slamming the door closed and shoving away the pistol pointed at his eye. "Drive you piece of sheet, Drive!" he commanded the British boy sitting in the drivers seat, who put the car into gear and skidded away, fixing his rearview mirror and calmly turning on the radio.

"Have fun?" Christophe scowled at the British boy before promptly giving the British bird, and then the American one. "I fucking 'ate guard dogs, Gregory! Sheet!" Gregory laughed, not the least bit disturbed by the splattered red on Christophe's sweater and pants, knowing some of it was the French boy's, some of it was the target's. He hoped most of it was the target's, but knowing Christophe, he was wrong. "Can't always have our way now can we, Christophe?"

_A/N: REVIEW!_


	7. Cigarettes

**Cigarettes **

Whil-o-whisp

Starting time: 5:50

Ending time: 6:06

Fandom: South park, GregoryxZemole (christophe)

Word Count: 571

A/N: Slash, Naughty language, Christophe badmouthing people, including his mother and god. You know the drill. Wow. Its been a while since I've done anything of importance on here. Lulz! Christophe has a dirty mouth but that's probably because I was listening to voices by Disturbed over and over and over again. Gregory is evil! EVIL! Lulz, but he gets what he wants, right? TIME FOR FUN!

Disclaimer: I own my very own disc of South Park: Bigger, Longer & Uncut. (still can't say that without my mind going…places)

Translation notes: No French this time, just Christophe thinking about his mom yelling.

* * *

Shut up. Nobody likes her anyway, why was she still yapping? She was just the French woman. Why should Christophe listen to her blathering in an accent so thick he could barely understand it, even though his own was nearly as, if not more, difficult to understand. She was ranting about his cigs this time. Why the fuck should she care if he smoked till he dropped? Wasn't like she cared before. Damn, he fucking hated it when she started ranting about the cocksucker she worshipped and tried to shove down his fucking throat, because really, his cigs and the bitch in the sky were totally related. Why the fuck would anybody worship that sick bastard, much less him? He was an acquaintance with the fucking Anti-Christ at school damn it. Damien could fucking kill this woman. Fuck, Gregory could kill her. Okay so Gregory could probably kill most everybody in their class. Or at least, Christophe thought he could. He didn't know, Gregory didn't fight. He let Christophe get his hands dirty.

Now she's blathering on in French AND English. Whoop-dee-freaking-doo, she's bilingual. She thinks she's so amazing just because she can speak in two fucking languages simultaneously. He vaguely wondered what she'd think if she knew Gregory spoke twenty-six languages. She'd probably have a shit fit and start trying to make him like Gregory. Fuck, why couldn't she have let Dad have custody.

Gregory can probably hear this and Christophe's room is fucking sound proof. Fuck this woman can yell. Now she's talking about going to church for Mass. Mass? That's a measurement bitch. Fuck, he needs a smoke. He stood, starting towards the stairs. She grabbed his arm, pulling him back and slapping him. He stared at her with the eyes his father had given him, doleful and scary, and cold, and very aged. She bursts into tears, crying for Mother Mary herself as he walks up the stairs, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting the tip. She couldn't fucking stand his eyes. They were too much like his fathers and he used it to his advantage. Not his fault she was an easily manipulated bitch. Just because she fell for a spineless bastard who couldn't take care of his only son and wife doesn't mean she can take her aggression out on him.

Gregory's standing in the doorway, eyes knowing and amused. Christophe ignored him, slipping in between the British boy and the doorframe into the smoky room that smelled of dirt, sex, smoke, and gunpowder. He liked how his room smelled, maybe because his mother didn't. Gregory walked calmly over to Christophe's mattress on the floor, the paranoid boy not able to bring himself to buy a bed frame. Christophe was sitting on it already, pulling off his boots and glaring at the laces, his cigarette smoldering in the ashtray beside him. Gregory chuckled, making the mercenary look up. Gregory placed soft fingers at Christophe's jaw before pressing his lips to his. Gregory always helped him vent after a fight. Realization dawned on the mercenary. How the hell could his mother have found out about his cigarettes, which he made sure to not leave around the house, unless somebody else had left one. The only person who EVER bummed a smoke off of him was…

"Fucking beetch." And Christophe couldn't tell anymore if he was talking about the bitch downstairs, or the one seated atop his hips, smirking deviously as he traced his neck.

_A/n: REVIEW!_


	8. Morning after

**Morning After**

By Whil-o-whisp

Fandom: South Park, GregoryxZeMole (christophe)

Word Count: 310

A/N: LOTS of French. Well. Sort of. Hah! IDK I really don't know what this is or why I wrote it. It was fun. Idk, idk, idk, idk. It's four twenty five in the morning. I am not tired. Its irritating. Have fun with this ya'll. Umn, mentions of....stuff. lol.

Disclaimers: I. Own. SPARTAAAAA!

* * *

"Christophe! Time to wake up, Christophe! (1) Réveillez Christophe, je pars pour le travail!" It took about two minutes to translate the entire thing in Christophe's mind. He blinked hard, trying to get his mouth to move as he pushed himself up onto his elbows.

"Ok, (2) Mère!" He called sleepily, careful not to wake the sleeping mass resting to his right. He lied back down, groaning slightly He rubbed a finger over a red mark on his arm, made by manicured nails. "(3) Tu êtes a faggot." He muttered to the blonde boy to his right. There was an amused hum.

"You say this…but after last night I'm afraid it doesn't mean much." Gregory lifted his curly blonde head smiling that cocky smile. Christophe rolled his eyes, rolling out of bed to pull on his pants. First course of action? Cigarette and coffee. He went downstairs to get those two very necessities.

His mom never made coffee in the morning, but at least she had stopped messing around trying to find his cigs. She never found them anyway. Two pristine new boxes sat behind the picture of Christophe's (4) Mamie and late Grand-papa. She would never think he would soil their names and images by hiding his 'dirty cigarettes' anywhere near them. Stupid woman.

He quickly poured him a cup of coffee, resting his cigarette in an empty bowl to take a long deserved sip. He sighed, listening to the coffee pot continue its trusty work. Footsteps caught his attention. "Leaving." Gregory informed him, standing tall to press a soft kiss to Christophe's lips before moving to the door. A hand caught his wrist and pulled him back.

Christophe pressed a deeper, harder kiss to the Englishman's lips. A soft amused noise and the brunette pulled away. "(5)À l'école alors?" Gregory laughed quietly, kissing the addicting mercenary one more time.

"(6)Oui, À l'école."

* * *

French Translation Notes:

(1) Get up Christophe, I'm going to work.

(2) Mother

(3) Kind of self explanatory….he called Gregory a faggot.

(4) Mamie means Granny

(5) At school?

(6) Yes, At school

* * *

A/n: REVIEW PLEASE K THANKS BYE!


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